Disappearing Act
by Calenheniel
Summary: [Hans, Elsa; circus A/U.] She wanted to disappear. He wanted a purpose. Together, they would pull off an impossible feat before the final curtain call.
1. i

Author's Note: Based on a short prompt – "Circus A/U" – which I received many years ago. I thought it was absurd at the time, and yet… here we are. I took this unique opportunity to experiment with style and voice, and ended up with a Hans and Elsa who are quite a lot more self-aware and self-possessed than I ever expected them to be.

* * *

**i.**

"I hear you can make things disappear."

His eyes traveled up from the cards in his hands, meeting hers, and stopped.

"Well 'hello' to you, too," he replied, his brow rising. When she said nothing in response, he continued, shifting in his seat: "In a manner of speaking, yes." With the movement, the hard straw beneath him prickled at his skin. "And I hear that _you _are a sorceress."

The men seated in the poker circle around him chuckled, but her expression did not change.

"If you really can," she said, "then meet me later by the stables—alone."

He blinked, and in a moment she was gone, only a swirl of her blue cloak crossing his line of vision.

"Strange woman," the man to his right grumbled.

"A _witch, _not a woman," the one to his left corrected, and flicked a card in his hand. "She's only lucky that this whole damn place is full of freaks like her."

"Freaks like _us, _you mean," retorted the man across from him. He glanced at the young man at the head of the circle. "So, Andersen? You going to take the Snow Queen up on her offer?" He revealed yellow, cracked teeth as he spit tobacco on the ground. "You should be careful, you know, getting involved with the likes of her. Nothing but bad luck."

The young man snorted. "Don't be jealous, old man. It's not a good look on you."

The man frowned. "You may be new here, boy, but we know you've heard the stories about her. Arrived here from nobody knows where, and found work with that ice magic, which no one has been able to figure out." He paused, and added: "Who knows what else she's hiding? The girl's been as quiet as the grave since she got here."

"Must have been pretty desperate to run to the circus," the younger man replied, running a hand through his auburn hair with a sigh. "A strange place to be for such a pretty girl, though she's done well for herself, it seems. Practically puts all the other acts out of business, including mine."

"There are stranger things in this world than pretty girls in the circus," the man next to him chimed in. "Perhaps she just likes you. Ladies are always fond of you magician types."

"I'm not so sure about that, but I'll meet her all the same," the young man said, and revealed a flush hand to a chorus of groans. He smiled. "It's useful to know the competition, after all."

The older man across from him tossed his hand onto the makeshift wooden table with a snap of his teeth. "You'd better hope she doesn't freeze your heart, then," he mumbled, "though I don't think it'd take much effort."

The young man's smile tightened, and he said nothing.

* * *

He arrived at the stables shortly after the stroke of midnight, side-stepping horse manure, empty whiskey bottles, and juggling pins along the way. One horse released a soft grumble as he entered its domain, and he returned the noise with a tired eyeroll, patting its neck.

"Easy, Sitron. Go back to sleep."

She stood by the far wall, hooded by her cloak. As he approached, she slid it off with gloved hands, revealing a mane of fine yellow hair that sparkled against the darkness, and a single, decorative fabric snowflake pinned against it.

"If I hadn't been expecting to see you here," he drawled, "I might have mistaken you for a shadow."

Her blue eyes were cool. "I don't think that's true. You always see me."

His cheeks reddened. "As do the others," he deflected. "In fact, I'm surprised they're not all here, spying in on us. Your reputation precedes you, after all."

Her gaze stirred a little. "It's the smell," she said. "Not even the old men can bear it in here."

He nodded, sniffing the air. "Yes, it is… distinctive, to be sure." He ignored the look of annoyance he was sure Sitron had shot him. "But enough of that. What was it that you wanted to speak with me about? 'Disappearing,' if I remember correctly?"

Her face fell. "Yes. Disappearing."

He waited, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. "I can't stay here," she said after a time, meeting his eyes. "But I have nowhere else to go."

"You and everyone else in this place," he replied. "I don't think any of us really _wanted _to end up here. You just… _do_, for lack of talent or failing to accomplish anything else. So I'm not sure how I can help you, really." His lips twitched. "I'm as much of a miserable screw-up as the rest of them."

Her eyes flashed. "But you can do things that they can't," she said. "Like make things disappear."

"Oh, yes, _that_," he retorted. "If by 'disappear' you mean 'briefly move someone or something from one location to the next using sleight of hand and distraction,' then yes—I'm your man." He raised his gloved hands to her. "Sorry to disappoint, but I can't do much more for you than pedestrian parlor tricks."

"I don't believe that. And I don't think you do, either."

He frowned. "Don't presume to know what I believe," he snapped. "We hardly know each other."

"But what if…"

His frown deepened. "'What if' what?"

Her hands twisted into knots in front of her cloak, and she bit her lip as her cheeks turned red. "What if we—what if we _did _try to know each other? Not just as 'Elsa, the Snow Queen' and 'Hans, the Illusionist.'" she said. "Perhaps then, you would see what I see. We could… help each other, in a way."

He scoffed. "I don't need help from you, nor from anyone else in this godforsaken place. And besides," he continued, "there's nothing you can do for me. Nor I for you. I couldn't teach someone how to make a bird disappear from their hands, much less a lonely girl from the circus."

He drew close to her until they were mere inches apart and stared down at her small, freckled nose with a smirk. "Unless you're looking for a certain kind of company. To be 'known' in a… _particular _way."

She glared at him. "No, thank you."

He stepped back, matching her expression. "Well, good. Because I wasn't interested, anyway," he replied, eyeing her up and down, "even if you're prettier than the rest."

She sighed. "I'd heard you were a difficult man to talk to, but… you're even worse than I imagined."

He leaned back against one of the wooden pillars of the stables, and crossed his arms. "A man has to live up to his reputation," he rejoined. "It's all he has, in the end."

"Your 'reputation'? In the _circus? _Please, Hans."

The air around them grew colder, and he stood to attention, shivering. "A man protects what little he has left in this world," he ground out.

The cold abated as she sighed for a second time. "I don't know what compels you to act this way, but I don't buy it." Her eyes burned holes into him. "There's more to you than this. There's—" she paused. "You can help me. I know it."

His cheeks pinked at the declaration, but his lips turned down. "Fine," he replied. "If you're so hellbent on this harebrained scheme of yours, then come and play cards with me sometime. Chat with me and the trapeze girls after the show. Hell, conjure some of your pretty little ice magic while you're at it," he said, his voice low. "I don't care what you do—but don't expect that I can help you with much more than opening a bottle of gin at the end of a long night. You'll just end up disappointed, like all the rest."

She smiled.

"We'll see."

* * *

She found Hans the next evening backstage, basking in the attention of the trapeze performers and dancers, his arms draped around them as they sat and laughed and drank sour whiskey on a worn red sofa with gold fringe.

He spotted her immediately, and though he did not stir from his seat, his eyes were locked with hers. He ran a gloved hand across the bare shoulder of one of the trapezists with a smile, and she giggled, following his line of sight to its focus point.

She scowled when she reached it. "Ugh. What's _she _doing here?"

The others caught sight of the intruder and likewise shot her cold, uninviting looks.

He grinned. "So nice of you to join us, Elsa. Please, won't you sit?"

Another trapezist on his other arm frowned, hissing: "Hans, what are you doing? We don't want _her_ here."

His grin widened. "And why not? Don't tell me you're jealous, Asta."

The girl's frown deepened. "I am not! It's just that she's… _strange," _she ended on a whisper, though still loud enough for everyone to hear. _"She has strange magic."_

"As do I, or so you all like to flatter me and tell me as much," he reminded her, and she pouted. "Don't be jealous, little dove."

The first trapezist shoved his arm off her shoulder. "She leaves, or _I _leave."

Elsa remained quiet during the conversation, her blue-gloved hands neatly placed together in front of her cloak. "I can leave," she offered.

"Nonsense," Hans snapped, and frowned at the other women. "Stop being ridiculous, all of you. Can't you bear to share me, even for a minute?"

Asta shoved off his other arm, brushing off her skirt and standing from the sofa. "Not everything is about _you_, idiot."

He sighed and put on a false look of penitence. "No, of course not. I'm wrong, you're right, I'm an idiot, you're brilliant. There—better now?"

A dancer sitting behind him stood with a huff, then glowered at Elsa. "He's all yours, _witch_," she spat, and gathered up her costume from the performance. "Not that that's worth much."

The trapezists and other women followed suit, staring daggers at Hans as they walked out of the tent, one by one, leaving him with his new guest. He blinked as the final woman's pink, feathered tail shook behind her on the way out, and turned his gaze to Elsa.

"You really know how to clear out a room."

A hint of a smile played on her lips as she unbuttoned her cloak and slung it over the back of a makeup chair before sitting down. She glanced at the mirror for a moment, and replied: "I like to think of it more as knowing how to make an entrance." Her attention turned back to him. "But why did you send them away? You didn't have to."

Hans rolled his eyes. "I didn't send anyone away—they left of their own free will. You saw that with your own two eyes."

She crossed her arms. "They left because _you_ were provoking them. On purpose."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," he said, and suppressed a smirk. "They were just being jealous, as usual. If not of each other, then of you for stealing their crowds." He wore a knowing look. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Elsa shrugged. "I've noticed," she acknowledged, "but it's none of my concern."

He snorted. "Of course not; yours are not the concerns of mere mortals, after all."

She frowned, and then sighed, leaning back against the chair. "You're making me regret coming here tonight."

Hans smiled. "But wasn't that the whole point of coming? To 'know' me, Elsa?"

"Yes, but…" she trailed off, and her frown grew. "You don't make it easy."

"Because that wouldn't be any fun," he returned, adding: "And since you've scared off my one reliable source of entertainment around here, I'll have to make do with what's left."

She stared at him. "You won't drive me away like them."

"Because you're 'different,' I suppose?" he retorted. "Because you can 'see through' me? Is that it?"

"Something like that," she replied, her gaze falling to his hands slung over the top of the sofa. "I'm surprised you're still wearing your gloves. Didn't your act finish over an hour ago?"

"My act is never 'finished,'" he answered, and gestured at her gloved hands in her lap. "Just like yours."

She stiffened. "That's not—" she paused, and breathed. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, earning a glare from her. "We both have our reasons. And as a fellow magician," he continued, "I wouldn't ask you to share your secrets. Even if I desperately wanted to know them."

Elsa's brow rose. "Do you?"

Hans chortled. "No."

She relaxed at this reply somewhat. "Even if you did, I… I wouldn't know how to begin."

He shot her a quizzical look at the remark, but then held his hands up in surrender. "Like I said—I don't need to know," he said. "Nor do I want to, particularly."

"I know," she said, her eyes still shut. "You're not like the others, in that way."

He shifted on the sofa to draw nearer to her, and it groaned in protest under him. His gaze was fixated on her soft features, and he rested his chin in his palm. "But _you_ want to know _me_, and my secrets. Isn't that right?"

Her eyes snapped open, catching him off-guard. "In a way, yes."

He shook his head at her. "They were right, you know—you _are _a strange one." He lay back on the sofa with a _plop_, his hands resting on his stomach. "So, now that you have me all to yourself, what is it exactly that you want to know?"

She glanced at his hands, and then met his stare.

"Everything."

* * *

"Everything?"

"Yes. Everything."

"That's a lot to know."

"Not once you actually start telling me, as opposed to what you're doing now."

"Fair enough. Though I still don't understand how any of this helps you to, you know—'disappear,' as you said."

"You don't have to understand. You just have to believe that it's possible."

"Like magic?"

"Yes. Like that."

* * *

He came to watch her act the next evening, and the evening after, and the evening after that.

He'd seen it before – the flurries dancing in the air, swirling into funnels, transforming into icicles and snowmen and miniature castles – but now he watched them with an avid attention for detail, committing each wave of her hand and hollow smile to his memory.

At the end of each performance, she found him in his dressing room, and they talked.

* * *

"You have _how_ _many_ brothers?"

"Twelve. Two of every kind to fill a second ark: spiteful, apathetic, bitter, arrogant, jealous, cruel."

"And you're… what? 'Not like them'?"

"Oh, I am _very_ much like them. Which is exactly why I want nothing at all to do with them."

"Is that why you came here?"

"… not exactly."

"Then why did you?"

"For the same reason everyone else comes here. For the same reason _you _came here, probably."

"And what do you think that is?"

"To start over."

* * *

Sometimes, the conversations lasted only an hour; other times, they stretched on and on until both had lost track of when they had started, and when they should end.

* * *

"You seem too well-bred to have ended up in a place like this."

"So do you."

"I am—well, I _was_. I suppose I can't lay claim to those old titles anymore, in my current line of work."

"Do you regret that?"

"Do _you_?"

"I… I don't have the luxury to feel that way. This is all I have left."

"No family?"

"No."

"Not even some distant, wealthy cousins in France? Even I've got a few of those."

"Not that I know of. But even if I did, it wouldn't matter. I can't go back to that life, and I—I don't want to, either."

"Fancy parties and well-dressed lords and ladies isn't your cup of tea, I take it?"

"More like _I'm _not _their _cup of tea."

"Funny, that… I feel much the same way."

"You do?"

"I always have."

* * *

Late in the fourth evening, he sat in the poker circle with a faraway expression, and laid his hand down to a raucous chorus of laughter.

"You've taken a shine to her," one man said next to him.

"She's _bewitched _him, more like," said another.

"Bewitched him out of his money, that's for sure!" guffawed a third man, and scooped up his earnings from the table. "You're off your game, Andersen. That's three nights in a row."

The younger man looked up, only to shrug and stand from his seat, patting his wallet inside of his waistcoat. "Have to let you all win once in a while, lest you gentlemen start to think I'm cheating."

"We already thought that, boy," the oldest man snapped, prompting chuckles from the rest. "It's like I told you—that girl is bad luck. And it's showing."

"Of course. It's _her _that's making me lose at poker," Hans scoffed. He turned to leave, giving the men a brief gesture of goodbye over his shoulder. "Until next time."

"Boy! Wait."

He turned halfway around with a sigh. "What is it, Leif?"

The older man frowned, opening his mouth—and then closed it again, glancing back at the others before speaking in a quieter way. "Come with me."

He led Hans back to the stagehands' quarters, where two or three men were already in their beds, drunk and snoring away. Once they reached a small corner of the room where the hands usually socialized before bed, he sat down, gesturing for the young man to follow suit.

Hans did so with an uncertain expression, trying to contain his lips from curling at the smell of spilt wine, beer, and liquor. "So, Leif," he asked, "what are we doing here?"

The older man took his pipe from his pocket and lit it, drawing a long breath before speaking again. "There's something you should know about her," he began, "something which I hope discourages you from associating with her further."

"Well, when you say it like that," Hans returned with a grin, "how can I refuse to listen?"

"I'm serious, boy," Leif said. "You don't understand what you're getting yourself into, by hanging around that… that… "

"That _what_?" the younger man cut him off. "Girl? Witch? Sorceress? I hope you know how ridiculous you all sound when you talk about her." He leaned back in the hard chair, taking an open bottle from a side table nearby and sniffing it. He made a face, but took a sip of it nevertheless. "I've been watching her act pretty closely the last few nights – well, even before then, actually – and yes, while I admit her magic _is _unusual and would probably be difficult to replicate, it's certainly not _real _ice or snow she's conjuring—"

"It is."

Hans set the bottle down hard again on the table. "Don't be absurd, old man."

"I'm telling you, boy—it's as real as the snow that falls from the skies and the ice that covers the rivers in winter," Leif replied, gripping his pipe. "They're one and the same."

Hans shook his head. "That's impossible. You know that."

"I thought the same as you, once," Leif said, sighing. "We all did. But you can only chalk up so many strange things happening in mysterious ways to chance for so long."

Hans leaned forward, and his gaze narrowed.

"Like what?"


	2. ii

**ii.**

She flinched when she caught sight of him in the curtains' shadow at the end of her act, taking a short, sharp inhale.

"Hans? I… wasn't expecting to find you here," she said, and pulled back the curtains a little. The light from backstage shined across his face, illuminating his olive eyes. "Usually, you're—"

"In my dressing room, yes," he finished, catching the wrist of her gloved hand in his. She stiffened in his grasp, and the air around them pulsated with cold, their exhalations visible in the dark. She relaxed only when he'd lowered both of their hands and stepped further into the light, his face red from the drop in temperature. "But I wanted to see you sooner tonight."

Her cheeks flushed. "I see." After a moment, she withdrew her hand from his, and stepped back. "We may as well go to my room, then. It's nearer to here, and it's… well, it's more private."

"Of course," he said, and followed her out.

When they reached her room and she closed the door, she finally looked at him again, swallowing. Her normal pallor had yet to return as she lit a lamp. "So—what was it that brought you here early?"

Hans remained standing as he spoke. "Something that one of the men said last night about you was rather curious, and I thought I'd better ask you about it, instead of wondering on my own to no end."

"Oh?" Elsa asked.

He moseyed over to her table and mirror, picking up one of the props she used sometimes during her act. It was a blue folding fan with silver snowflakes stenciled along the creases, and it glittered even under the dim light of the lamp. He opened and examined the fan at length before meeting her wary gaze.

"It matches your dress," he said, gesturing at the blue and silver garment she wore during her performances, and which she was wearing then. "Where did you get it?"

She blinked. "Get what? The fan, or the dress?"

He shrugged. "Either. Both?"

"The fan I bought from a peddler some years ago and decorated myself, and the dress is—" She stopped and shook her head. "Why are you asking me these things, all of a sudden? I thought you were going to ask me about… whatever it is that one of the men told you about me."

He feigned an apologetic expression. "Oh, yes, of course! I can be so forgetful sometimes, forgive me." He placed the fan back on the table, leaning against it as he continued: "I'm sure you know Leif, the stage manager?"

She frowned. "Yes, of course. What about him?"

He glanced back at the fan, and then at the small rack upon which a number of other snow-themed props hung, including hats, feather boas, garments, and decorations. "Well, you see, Leif is rather convinced that your magic is not just some trick." He fingered her fabric snowflake pin that rested against the mirror with interest. "He believes that your snow, and ice, and all the rest of it is actually… quite real."

She stared at his hand on the pin. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replied, catching her stare. "He claims he's seen it at work in… 'mysterious ways,' as he put it."

Her stare narrowed. "Such as?"

"Oh, you know," Hans said, "making the air go cold around you, making it snow in the middle of July over the entire fairgrounds, turning a live tiger into an ice sculpture—things like that."

Elsa paled. "Those are just… just rumors," she stammered. "Utter nonsense."

"Are they?" he asked, standing tall as he drew closer to her. "I've certainly noticed a few odd things about you, myself." He stopped just a few inches short from her nose and sighed, looking down at her hands clasped together in front of her ribcage. "For instance, I don't think I've ever seen you without your gloves on when you're not performing, Elsa. Why is that?"

"I could say the same about you, Hans," she rejoined, "except that you also wear yours _during_ your act."

He held up his hands, still gloved, and nodded. "Indeed," he agreed, and took each glove off, never breaking eye contact as he tossed them to the side, one after the other. Once bare, he held them up to her eye level. "But now you have, and you can see I have nothing to hide."

She glared at him. "Your bare hands mean nothing," she retorted, "let alone that you are honest and true, and that I am not by keeping mine covered."

"Fine," he said, "but at least I am willing to show you them. You've still not done the same."

"And why should I?" she snapped. "I don't have to prove _anything _to you, or to Leif, or to anyone else around here. All I have to do is keep bringing in the audiences and their cash, right? The rest is immaterial." Her hands came to ball into fists at her sides. "You don't understand me any better by seeing my damn hands, nor do I get anything from seeing yours."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when they reopened, there were tears welling at their corners. "You said being here was about 'starting over,' didn't you? Well, I've just as much a right to that as anyone else, without being accused of creating snowstorms and freezing tigers and God knows what else."

She covered her face with one of her palms, and began to shake. "But I know that's asking too much—it's _always _been asking too much. And that's why—"

Elsa stopped, and Hans continued: "And that's why you want to disappear."

She shuddered.

"Yes."

* * *

"You never did say much about how you ended up here."

"I thought you said you wouldn't ask me to share my secrets. Remember?"

"Of course I do. But… you do seem rather desperate to share them with me."

"_Desperate? _By what measure?"

"Your vague and dramatic outlines of your life before you came here, for a start. I'm sure you didn't simply appear one day as you are; I imagine you had a family as well, at some point."

"Yes, well, that's true. I had parents, like anyone else. And a sister. Her name was… Anna."

"And are they still living? Anna, and your parents?"

"No. I'm the only one left."

"But… if you _really_ disappear, then—"

"Then we will all be gone."

"Doesn't that frighten you? Going into the unknown?"

"It did, once. Now, I long to go."

* * *

He stared at his hand of cards as if he could see straight through them into the dirt below, his lips set in an immovable line.

"Lovers' spat?"

The question rose him from his daze. "What?"

The man who asked sat next to Leif in the poker circle, and tutted at Hans's answer. "Don't see you here for a week, and now you're here every night the last three nights," he expanded. "We figured you and the princess got into some sort of disagreement."

Another man on Leif's other side chimed in: "Yeah, didn't seem like you had much else going on, Andersen. Haven't seen you with the other girls in a long time. They must be boring compared to the Snow Queen, huh?"

Hans frowned. "Not that it's any of your business, but we've had no disagreements, agreements, or any sort of thing at all happen between us," he said. "Clearly, I have other activities with which I can keep myself occupied—like beating you all at this game."

He laid down a flush hand at this declaration, and the other men grumbled as they shoved over their loose change and bills. Leif was the last to comply, and then sat with a stiff back and crossed arms, puffing on a pipe and eyeing the younger man through a narrow gaze. "Better off here wasting your money, than hanging around that one," he said.

"I don't know about that, sir," one of the younger stagehands cracked, grinning. "He's been pulling in some pretty big crowds the last few nights. Maybe there's something to her after all, if she's managed to turn him into a decent magician." His brow rose as his grin widened. "Or maybe that's why you've come back here, eh, Andersen? The missus is probably put out with you for stealing her audience."

"It's true—I've been watching his act lately, and it's been damn near impossible to try to figure out how he's pulled off some of those tricks," said another man, scratching his stubbled chin. "I haven't seen people so excited about a missing rabbit since the one my Ma tried to cook for supper ran off."

The men laughed at this, and Hans's frown deepened. "While I find your faith in my abilities truly touching, gentlemen," he drawled, "I think I've had enough praise for one night. So if you all don't mind, I'll be on my way."

"Fine by me," said the first man. "I'm tired of losing money, anyway."

The others nodded and grunted in assent, drawing another eyeroll from Hans. Leif observed the exchange with an ever-present glower, and finally said: "Don't press your luck, boy."

The younger man returned the remark with a thin smile. "Too late—I've already done that. That's how I ended up here in the first place."

In the silence following his reply, he walked away—but not before Leif's heavy hand had fallen on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks just by the entryway.

Hans frowned. "What do you want now, old man?"

"Now listen," the older man began; then, he grew quiet, and his glower softened for a brief moment. He continued in a brusque, but quieter way. "Whatever's happened between the two of you, it's best to continue not seeing her."

"Yes, she's 'bad luck' and can suffocate me with snowflakes—you've already told me that," Hans snapped, rolling his eyes.

Leif glared at him. "It's no laughing matter. Whatever she told you – that we're all liars, that none of the rumors are true – you _must_ know that one with such magic as hers cannot be trusted. She will keep your company until she's tired of you, and then she will hurt you."

Hans brushed Leif's hand off his shoulder. "Big words coming from a man who probably hasn't spoken more than two words to her in all the time she's been here," he said. "Don't pretend that your old wives' tales and carnie superstitions can substitute for actually knowing someone. The truth is this: you don't know why she's here, what she's capable of, what she's afraid of, or who she even is."

Leif's chin lifted at this assertion, and then he stuck his hands back in his pants pockets as he grunted, shaking his head. He shot the younger man one last, meaningful look, and asked:

"Do you?"

* * *

Hans didn't reply, and returned to his dressing room with a fierce scowl. Once inside, he slammed the door shut, sat on a worn armchair, and took off his gloves. After a moment of rest, he reached inside the pocket of his waistcoat, exhaling once he retrieved its contents.

In the palm of his hand laid her snowflake pin.

* * *

She saw a light under his door late in the evening and paused, raising a hand to knock on it… only for it to open of its own accord. She lowered her hand and stepped in, giving him a slight nod as she did.

"You don't usually come by so late, Elsa."

She didn't sit. "No. But it's been some time since I last visited, and…" she trailed off. "I wouldn't usually come by when I know you're out playing cards. But I overheard some of the boys saying backstage that you'd missed the last few games, and I thought—well, I guessed I'd see you here."

"You guessed right," Hans said, turning the knob on the lamp so it burned brighter. "But that doesn't explain why you're here so late."

She reddened. "I saw your act tonight. It was… very impressive."

"Oh?" he asked, and set himself down on the chair closest to his small table of props and other knick knacks. He rolled up his sleeves, and when a card popped out of one, he flicked it to the side. "And what was your favorite part?"

Elsa glanced at the discarded card, and then back at him. "The doves," she answered. "The way you transformed them from handkerchiefs, and flames, and paper cranes into real birds—that was something else." Her gaze was pointed. "I think there was even a snowflake that turned into a dove, if I remember correctly."

He met her look without surprise. "Ah, yes. A snowflake," he said, and pulled the fabric pin from his pant pocket. "Was it this one?"

Her lips were thin. "Why, yes. I think it was." She walked closer towards him, craning over his seated figure. After a moment, she sighed and crossed her arms, leaning against the table. "You know, if you wanted to borrow one of my things for your performance, you could've just asked me for it." She frowned. "I know we had something of a… _disagreement _the last time we spoke, but I didn't think it was bad enough that you would shut me out for a week—"

"'Shut you out'? Hardly," Hans interrupted, his fingers curling around the pin. "As you've seen for yourself, I've been hard at work improving my craft." He let it fall from his hand in the next moment, tapping the tabletop. "I don't have the time, nor the desire, to be so petty as to ignore you on purpose."

"Were you upset by what I said?"

He froze at the question, then waved it away. "I don't even remember what we talked about."

"I don't believe that," she said. "I remember it all very well, and I know you do, too."

"Then what is it you said that you think upset me _so much _that I've been avoiding you?" he asked, matching her crossed arms with his own. "Please jog my memory, since I clearly can't remember what you want me to."

She glared at him. "You asked me about my past—about my family," she said. "You asked if I was frightened by the thought of disappearing from this world, as they did." She leaned in close until she could see his cheeks flush with color. "I told you I wasn't."

He cleared his throat and clicked his tongue. "And why do you think I was upset by that?"

She drew back, shrugging. "I don't know for sure. It's just an educated guess." Her brow lifted. "After all, I don't know enough about you to understand why it might be upsetting."

"… is that your way of asking me to tell you more about myself?" Hans replied at length.

Elsa answered with a half-nod. "More or less. But only if you want to."

"And if I don't?" he asked.

"Then you don't," she said, "and I wouldn't force you to. But even if you don't want to, I would just ask you… not to shut me out again." She looked away for a moment. "I can't stand it."

He was quiet for a while, and then sighed.

"What is it that you want to know?"

She raised her gaze to meet his. "The one thing you've never told me: why you're here."

He rested his forehead on his palm, and closed his eyes. "That's a long story, Elsa."

She pulled up another chair from a corner of the room until she sat opposite him, and cocked her head to the side.

"I'd like to hear it."


	3. iii

**iii.**

"In my old life," he began, "I was never satisfied. I always wanted more."

Her brow rose. "Even though you were already wealthy?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't about money for me—it never has been. I sure as hell wouldn't have taken up this kind of work if it were," he replied. "It was more that I… didn't feel important, or respected. I didn't think I had any purpose in this world, except to watch all of my brothers succeed and thrive where I couldn't."

She frowned. "And why couldn't you, as well?"

His shoulders tensed, rising nearly to his ears. "Because I was – _am_ – the last of them. I would inherit nothing, be responsible for nothing, take pride in nothing—and yet be wanting of nothing all the same, because it would have been unthinkable to allow one of the Westergard sons to become publicly destitute."

"Is that your real family name? Westergard?" she asked.

He nodded, flexing his hands in his gloves. "Yes. And with that name, I didn't know who I was outside of it. It felt as though I had nothing to live for, save for passing fancies at cards or in brothels. And so, I made something up," he said, and glanced at her. "Something you won't like."

Elsa's lips pursed. "Try me."

He sighed. "One of my oldest brothers – Kristian – was engaged to a young noblewoman by the name of Lady Therese. It was arranged by my father, of course, as the marriage would bring quite a lot of wealth to our family, and Kristian was a renowned and admired naval admiral who would likewise bring good repute to hers, which had obtained their wealth through… less than honorable means, to put it kindly." His nose twitched at the recollection. "But Kristian seemed to be genuinely infatuated with the girl, and made that infatuation well-known to anyone who would listen to his blathering. Naturally, I hated it, and, well… I couldn't help but want to test his true feelings—to see if he really cared at all for her, or just for her money."

Elsa sucked in a breath. "… Hans, you didn't."

He chuckled. "Indeed I did—I went after his bride-to-be with my most convincing lovesick act, figuring that if she didn't leave Kristian for me and offer me her money instead, then at least I got to get under the Admiral's – and my father's – skin," he said, and added: "I knew it was risky, but… if I'm honest, the whole affair made me feel really _alive _for the first time in a long while. Even if it ended up with me here, and their lives largely unchanged."

"So what happened?" she countered. "I take it that your scheme didn't go as planned."

"Indeed not. Needless to say, the first part went off without a hitch and the girl was madly in love with me and promised to me within a week, but the second part…" He wore a cynical smile. "Well, her father didn't take too kindly to the idea of marrying his prized filly off to the youngest son, who had no standing or character to speak of. So he called off both our secret engagement, as well as the official one to my brother, and I was made to tell Therese that I am a scoundrel and a charlatan who was only after her money, so that she might forget about me and move on to find a more suitable match—who, I might add," he continued with a chuckle, "would probably also only be after her for her money, anyway."

She crossed her arms. "That's it? That was your only punishment?"

Hans scoffed. "Of course not. My father put me on house arrest and took all of my privileges away – spending allowances, attending parties, even reading in the estate's library, which was, to be honest, my only real pleasure – and arranged a marriage for me to a homely and dull creature from a rich family in a backwater province, with whom I would be sent to live after the papers were signed." He eyed his hands for a moment, and began to loosen the gloves from his fingers, his smile widening. "Obviously, that never happened, as I fled well before the ceremony could ever take place. However, I must hand it to the old man—it would've been a very fitting punishment, and it still amuses me on some level to consider."

She paused as he removed the gloves, glancing at her own. "Did they try to find you?" she asked.

He shrugged again. "Probably. I've tried to avoid looking at papers since I left, though, so who knows? I can't imagine that they'd spend much effort to look for me once I was out of the Isles. International detective work is expensive, and I don't think Father could afford it, since I cost him two weddings' worth of easy money." He continued: "Anyway, this is the last place any of them would ever think to find me. None of them are interesting enough to even _dream_ of it."

"And no one here suspects that you're not who you say you are?"

He shifted in his seat. "Oh, they do. I think it's just… _understood _here that everyone's got a past they're running from. And if you don't ask about theirs, they don't ask about yours. Suits me pretty well, even if the place smells like a horse's ass half the time."

"But you've started doing really well, recently," she pointed out. "Aren't you concerned that you're attracting more attention?"

"Not particularly," he replied. "But if I did, I'd just move on again. Find another job, lay low, _et cetera_. I don't have to tell you how this works."

She looked down, her hands knitting together. "I know, it just… sounds exhausting."

"Because it is," he agreed. "I'm tired all the time, these days."

He tossed his gloves onto a table nearby, and stared at her for a long while. When she finally met his gaze, he added:

"Isn't it the same for you?"

* * *

She laid in bed for a while, hardly blinking as she stared up at the cloth roof over her head.

The snores of the other women in the shared quarters echoed around her, sometimes quieting to a lull before roaring to full volume again without warning. Her bunkmate on the bed below shifted in her sleep, and the mattress creaked.

She sat up, carefully laying her moth-eaten blanket to the side, and climbed down the bunk ladder to the ground. Throwing on her blue cloak, gloves, and shoes, she took up a small lantern and a box of matches from a chair nearby.

When she stepped out of the tent, darkness greeted her; striking a match and lighting the lamp, she took a long inhale, and walked towards the stables.

* * *

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No. Not a wink. You?"

"I don't sleep much. Besides, Sitron likes the company."

"I can tell."

"So what brought you here? The smell is only going to keep you awake."

"I—I suppose it was the thought of you. Of our chat."

"Glad to know you associate me with horseshit."

"That's not what I—you know what I meant."

"Yes. And… I suppose it was the thought of you that brought me here, too. Reminds me of our first real conversation. Do you remember?"

"Of course I do."

* * *

They gazed at each other in silence for a moment, their cheeks warm; then, he turned back to Sitron, continuing to brush his mane.

She looked down, and bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

* * *

"There's something I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

"It's—it's about my past. Why I came here."

"Elsa, you don't have to tell me anything."

"I know, but… I want to. I _want _to tell you."

"… then I won't stop you."

* * *

He paused, setting down the brush; she sighed, and let her hands fall by her sides.

The air was colder than before.

* * *

"I told you that I had parents and a sister, once."

"Yes. And that they had passed."

"They did. But… not in the way you might think."

"What happened to them?"

"I… it was my fault. All of it was because of me, and my—it's my fault."

"What are you saying, Elsa?"

* * *

He shuddered as she closed her eyes, and then – meeting his stare – she removed her gloves, one by one, letting them fall to the ground whereupon they stood.

With the slightest movement of her bare hand, a snowflake the size of an apple and made entirely of ice appeared in her palm. It rotated slowly, suspended in mid-air above her skin.

His breath caught in his throat.

* * *

"It's… real. The rumors were true."

"Not all of them, but… yes. Many were."

"Funny to think that when I first saw your act, I just assumed it was sleight of hand and plays of light, but seeing it now… how could this be possible?"

"I don't know; I've never known."

"Does anyone else know about it?"

"No one, except my family. And they suffered for it."

* * *

The snowflake vanished from her hand, and her fingers curled into a tight fist, her knuckles turning white.

He took one step closer to her.

* * *

"Elsa, what happened?"

* * *

She wept without restraint, and buried her face in her hands.

The cold was biting, and the horses whinnied.

* * *

"I didn't mean to do it—I don't even know why it happened. I was just so afraid, and _angry _at being hidden away for so many years, that I lashed out, and… I couldn't control it."

"Hidden away?"

"Yes. I struck Anna by accident as a child, and my parents became so frightened that they kept me under close guard at all times thereafter. I was made to wear those gloves as well; Father hoped they would contain me, somehow. I couldn't even remember the last time I went without them, until I came here. But none of that matters, because I… I hurt them. I _froze _them. And I didn't know how to – no, _couldn't_ fix it – so I left."

"Elsa… I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for me. I don't deserve that, and I don't want that, either. I'm a monster and a witch and every other vile thing that's been said about me, and worse."

"Stop it."

* * *

The temperature paused in its descent ever-downward as she looked up at him.

* * *

"You're no monster, Elsa. Your magic is… special. A gift."

"How could you say that? After hearing what I've done—"

"And what about me? A scoundrel, philanderer, a fraud—and, according to some, a grasping and devious son of a whore, to boot."

"You know it's not the same. Not even close."

"Look: whatever happened, it happened when you were alone and afraid, and didn't understand your own strength. And now? Now, you can speak with me freely without hurting me, and bring joy to many people, night after night, with your magic. Surely that is not the work of a witch, is it?"

"Just 'pedestrian parlor tricks,' as you once put it."

"No—not just that. It's much more than that, it's… beautiful."

"You're… not afraid of it? Of me?"

"Why should I be?"

* * *

She saw only sincerity in his expression, and in seeing this, her sobs started afresh.

* * *

"It doesn't change what I've done. And what I may do to others, should I lose control again."

"But why not try to control it better here, and practice more through your act? What do you have left to lose?"

"More than you know. Including—"

* * *

Her tear-filled eyes met his for a brief moment—and in that moment, he understood.

* * *

"So you intend to disappear."

"Yes."

"With my help."

"Yes."

"And what comes after?"

"What do you mean?"

"I told you: nothing ever really just _vanishes_ into thin air, like your snowflake. It is moved somewhere else temporarily, until the magician puts it back into plain sight. So even if I were to do this, I don't think it would work out the way you want it to."

"There's only one way to find out."

* * *

He frowned, and his chin sunk to his chest.

The first light of morning was beginning to break over the horizon.

* * *

"I don't want to help you, Elsa."

"I know."

"And if I refuse?"

"You can. I won't force you to do anything."

"And yet, you're very good at getting me to do what you want, anyway."

* * *

The light crept into the barn, casting a long line across the dirt below before climbing up to illuminate their faces.

He put his hands in his pockets, and looked down at his boots, still shadowed by darkness. Her discarded gloves lay close to his feet, and he bent down to pick them up, handing them back to her.

She looked at them with hesitation, at first; then, she inhaled deeply, and took them from him.

When their eyes met again, his expression was hard and set, and the sunrise was nearly blinding.

* * *

"We'll do it tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. We'll put on a double act with you up first, and then I'll bring you in at the end of mine as a surprise for the ones who stick around."

"And… how will you do it?"

"A magician never shares his secrets."

"Even for this?"

"Even for this."


	4. iv

**iv.**

It was a packed house on the evening of the performance with audiences clamoring for the Snow Queen and the Illusionist, their chatter and shouting echoing beneath the big top.

Children clambered over each other to get into the front rows, their little hands grasping at the air as the stage hands set up the props for Elsa's performance. Those who had seen it before shrieked and babbled with excitement at the familiar items – a lit candelabra, a large bowl of water, a plain blue cloak – and those who were about to watch it for the first time peered at the same objects with mildly curious looks, and then at their pocket watches.

Hans and Elsa stood together behind the curtain, both outfitted in their best attire for the evening, their eyes locked.

"You remember the plan?" he asked. "I'll come and get you towards the end of my act, and then—"

"Yes, I remember," she said. "You'll lead from there. And I'm not to ask any further about it."

"Good. Now get out there, and make this last one count," he said, looking at her still-gloved hands. "Show them your gift."

She swallowed, and folded them against her chest.

"Hans…"

"What is it?"

"I—" she trailed off, and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry for making you do this," she said at length. "I know you don't want to, and… there's a part of me that doesn't want to go, even though I know I must."

He placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her; when her exhalations softened, he brought it back in front of her, unfurling his fingers to reveal her snowflake pin.

She blinked. "Hans, when did you…?"

He grinned. "Just now. From behind your ear." At her frown, he continued in a more serious way: "You're not 'making' me do anything, Elsa. I agreed to this – to help you – and so I will." He placed the pin in her palm and curled her fingers around it, giving her a small smile. "Of course I wish that I could have your company for a little while longer, but I know I can't keep you here. None of us can."

Her eyes welled with tears, but she swallowed them back, and pinned the snowflake to the side of her long braid. When she looked at him again, she was smiling. "Thank you," she said as she removed her gloves, wiping away any trace of weeping from her cheeks. "I should go, now."

"Yes," he agreed. "You should."

When she opened her mouth to speak again, he placed one hand in front of her lips. "I won't wish you luck," he said. "You don't need it."

Her eyebrow rose, and she took his hand, lowering it to the side. She glanced down for a moment, and then back up at him.

"No. But you do."

* * *

He paced backstage, ignoring the looks of suspicion and resentment from the other performers preparing close by, his hands knitted together behind his back.

His heartbeat quickened with each exclamation of the crowd on the other side of the curtain, and as her act drew closer to its end, beads of sweat started to form on his forehead. He wiped them off in the next moment, exhaling; when he heard the last, full cheers from the audience, he finally paused in place at the side of the stage.

She took her last bow with a wide smile, her arms full of bouquets, and slipped behind the curtains as they were pulled to a close, her torso still bowed. When she looked to the side, their eyes met, and they stayed that way for a while as the stagehands moved around them to remove her props from the stage, and replace them with his.

At length, she glanced down at her long gloves in her dress pocket, and took them out, intending to put them back on—but with one shake of Hans's head, she nodded, and placed them on a small table backstage instead.

"Andersen! You're up."

Leif's bark brought them to attention, and they drew closer.

* * *

"Well, I… I guess this is it."

"Yes, it is."

"I—this is crazy. I don't even know if it's going to work."

"It will."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But I believe it will."

"I guess that'll have to do. But…"

"What?"

"I wish I knew what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Except goodbye."

"Then goodbye, Elsa."

"Goodbye, Hans."

* * *

His act proceeded in the usual way, or at least it seemed to, from what she could discern backstage. It sounded as if a few people had left after her performance, having gotten their fill of entertainment for the evening, but not nearly as many as in weeks past.

She did not move from her spot to the side of the curtain, awaiting his further instruction. Not being sure of his plans, her eyes darted from the curtain to the stagehands' glowers, and she swallowed.

As the act entered the middle part, she caught sight of a large, brown wardrobe being wheeled over from the back towards the curtain, with the stagehand wheeling it giving her a long, dark look.

She returned it only for a moment before bringing her attention to the prop, and examined every detail that she could make out in the low lighting: the two great bare doors bereft of any ornamental carvings, the four knobby-looking feet holding it up, and the top jutting out in a harsh rectangle.

And in the same moment as she realized its purpose, the curtains pulled back, and both she and the wardrobe were pulled onstage.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen—for those of you who were wise enough to stick around for this second act, I have a special surprise for you."

He paused for effect, watching the audience's eyes grow wide. As the curtains pulled apart, he continued: "Please welcome back to the stage, one last time: Elsa, the Snow Queen!"

He took her hand and brought her to the front with him to wild applause and cheers from the crowd, and though she initially wore an expression of surprise, she quickly readopted her stage persona, curtsying with grace. She matched his broad, generous smile for the audience, and looked back at him once she finished her reintroduction with warm cheeks, not a single hair out of place.

At the look, he brought her hand to his lips, and gave it a quick kiss; from the corner of his eye, he watched as the wardrobe was set down in place mid-stage.

Turning back to the audience, he announced: "And now, my friends, I am excited to say that I will be performing a trick never seen here before, in this circus: a disappearing act. And before any of you say anything," he continued at some skeptical looks from the crowd, "this is not the kind you're used to from me, with vanishing doves and hats and other simple objects. No—today, I present to you a most extraordinary feat of magic: one in which I will make our beloved Queen herself disappear before your very eyes!"

Murmurs of disbelief circulated in the audience, and Hans could feel a tremor run through Elsa's hand to his. He squeezed it to reassure her.

"Yes, indeed, my friends: it can be done, and I will show you exactly how it will happen."

He let go of her hand to jump backwards towards the wardrobe, making large, expressive gestures at it and its surroundings as he continued his speech. "Here you will observe a large wardrobe, with two doors and four legs, and – when opened – one that can fit a whole man inside of it. Allow me to demonstrate." He opened the doors, and hopped inside to nods and more murmurs from the crowd.

"Yeah, but what about the back of it?" one audience member shouted.

"Or below! There's probably a trick door underneath," another added.

"Very good," Hans replied, stepping out again. "As you can see," he said, knocking against the wooden backing, "there is no way one could escape through the back, nor through the bottom or the floor beneath." He crouched down and snaked his arm in the small space below the wardrobe, patting it down and pulling dramatically at the floorboards to no avail for comedic effect. "I can guarantee that this wardrobe is of the sturdiest make, with no trickery built in at all." He motioned at Elsa, who stood to the side. "In fact, I am so confident in the strength of this device, that I will have our dearest Queen Elsa test it herself before she assists me with this impossible feat of magic."

Elsa took his hand again with only the slightest millisecond of hesitation, and then proceeded to demonstrate the soundness of the prop as instructed, plastering on a smile for the crowd. "Yes," she said after making all of the expected knocks and pulls, "I can confirm that the Illusionist's claims are true."

"You're just saying that because you two planned the act together," an older man in the crowd heckled them. "You know exactly how this trick works."

Before Hans could make a reply, Elsa interrupted, still smiling as she stepped closer to the crowd. "Actually, sir, I've not the slightest idea of what will happen – just the same as all of you. The Illusionist never shares his secrets, not even with his fellow performers." Her appearance was so vulnerable and genuine in that moment, that even the most skeptical members of the audience softened at her speech.

She turned back to look at Hans as she concluded: "So I, too, am very much looking forward to seeing how this turns out."

Hans's ever-present grin twitched at the remark, but he carried on. "Yes, indeed—I've not told the Snow Queen anything in advance, nor anyone else. And now that she's verified the sturdiness of this simple wardrobe, I shall proceed with pulling off my most daring trick to date. It is so important that you all know I am being truthful with you, in fact," he continued, pulling off his gloves, "that I must remove these gloves as well, to prove that I have nothing to hide." Once pulled off, he tossed them into the crowd to the titters of some of his fawning young female admirers, and he placed one hand behind his back, offering the other to Elsa.

She stared at it for a moment – a long, quiet moment – before placing her ungloved hand in his, her cheeks red as she followed him towards the wardrobe. Once in front of it and facing its already open doors, she allowed Hans to help her inside.

As his figure covered the doorway, he concealed the crowd from her sight, and his face remained the only clear thing to her in the darkness.

She looked at him one last time, and then the doors closed.

* * *

Hans secured the doors and knocked against each side of the wardrobe for good measure, concluding with a final peek at the floor beneath it. He motioned for the crowd to quiet down as he stepped away from it, pulling out a short baton from inside of his waistcoat.

With a flick of his wrist, the baton extended to its full length, garnering some excited whispers from the loyal audience members already acquainted with his mannerisms and flourishes. He threw a knowing smirk and a wink at these individuals, who giggled and chuckled in reply.

"On the count of three and a snap of my fingers," he said, "I will reopen these doors, and our beloved Snow Queen will have vanished. Now, ladies and gentlemen—will you assist me with the count?"

The crowd noisily agreed, and he nodded. "Alright, then. Let us begin—one!"

Two!" he shouted in unison with the audience.

A few people preemptively shouted "three!" before him – at which he waggled his finger, tutting, earning some laughter from the audience – and then he made a wide gesture towards the wardrobe, and pointed his baton directly at it.

He took a pause, filling the room with tension, waiting for the hush to fall over the crowd; and at last, he thrust his whole body towards the wardrobe, pressing his bare hands and the baton at the air with great force as he snapped his fingers.

"_Three!"_

The doors of the wardrobe burst open, and a cold wind swept out from inside of it over the crowd, causing it to shriek and duck down in surprise.

Hans staggered back as well, barely holding onto his baton, and stared with wide eyes as the doors to the wardrobe rattled against their hinges, then slammed back shut again. After a moment, he managed to regain his balance and sweep his hair back into place, patting down his coat and clearing his throat as the crowd continued to shout and shove each other in confusion.

"Good people!" Hans exclaimed, trying to calm them, "fear not! It is all just a part of the act. Look for yourselves." He put his baton back inside of his jacket and walked in slow strides towards the wardrobe, and once in front of it, he sucked in a deep breath.

In one swift pull, he swung the doors open, exhaling as if he had just come up for air after a long spell underwater. As he examined its contents, he stood stock-still; all he could hear was the sound of his beating heart.

At length, he leaped to the side with a broad smile, and the crowd gasped.

Sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe was a small pile of snow, glistening white, with the snowflake Elsa pinned to her hair on top of it. He knelt down until his eyes were level with the pile, and then took some of it out to the audience, letting them touch the snow with their own hands.

"It's real!" one child screamed with delight.

"It's _cold," _a woman exclaimed, and quickly brushed it off her glove.

"But… where is the Snow Queen?" another child asked, her voice soft and sad.

"She's not really gone, darling," the child's mother shushed her. "It's just a trick."

Hans came to kneel down by the side of the stage in front of which the child stood. She looked down at the snow in her small hands, her eyes welling with tears.

"What is your name, child?" he asked.

"Gerda," she replied through sniffles.

"Do not be sad, dear Gerda, for she has gone back to her country," he said, "back to her great palace of ice, where she skates with angels and bears and reindeer, and holds banquets where they serve nothing but chocolate."

The adults in the crowd around them chuckled at the description, but the child only looked at him with the utmost earnestness. "I would like to go there," she said, and smelled the snow in her hand. "It sounds like great fun."

"It does, doesn't it?" he replied, patting the girl's head. "I think we all would. Perhaps we will, some day."

At her hopeful look, he rose to stand again; as he did, the remaining snow in the wardrobe flew out of it on a gentle wind, scattering over the audience like a snowfall from the sky. The children squealed with joy at the effect, and even the older members of the crowd looked on in wonder as the flakes speckled their heads and shoulders, cheering for Hans's great trick.

"Thank you, thank you, one and all! Enjoy the snowflakes while they fall," he said as he closed his act with a bow. For one last laugh, he craned his head back to catch a snowflake on his tongue, and then waved again as he went offstage, taking the longest exhale he had all day.

When he finally looked up again, he noticed Elsa's gloves where she had left them behind the curtains, and stuffed them in his pockets.

"Nice trick, Andersen," remarked the stagehand who wheeled the wardrobe backstage.

"Hope you can pull it off again," said another. "So wherever you sent her highness, make sure you get her back in time for tomorrow night's encore performance, alright?"

Hans ignored their comments and praise as he stalked back to his dressing room, slipping off his boots, tails, and waistcoat when he got inside. His neck rolled back as he sighed, and with his eyes closed, he pulled out her gloves from his pockets, and laid them atop the table, sitting down in front of his mirror.

He stared at the gloves up close after a moment, and then shook his head and brought them to his lips, burying his face in their creases. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the table, he shuddered.

When he looked up again, he saw the edge of something white behind his ear in the mirror.

He reached a hand back, and pulled forth the same snowflake pin that had been in her hair, and then inside of the wardrobe. He stared at it, bemused, for a long while; then, he looked up into the mirror, and laughed.

"You've done it, Elsa!" he roared. "You've vanished, _disappeared_, just like you wanted! And I'm…"

His laughter subsided, and he looked down at the pin again, curling his fingers around it until his knuckles turned white. His shoulders shook as he trembled, and when he looked back into the mirror, he saw that he was crying.

"I'm still here."


End file.
